The Mallard Chronicles
by Wesley E. Matillies
Summary: After a faked and confusing crime scene, a joint NCIS/CIA/FBI operation and a lunatic on the loose, finding out who Ducky's "mystery woman" really is becomes top priority. IN PROGRESS. I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING.
1. Ten 'Til Nine

_**The Mallard Chronicles**_

_**Ten 'Til Nine**_

I gave up on sleeping. There is only so much tossing and turning any sane (or slightly insane) person can stand. I didn't want to leave my nice, warm, comfortable bed but I couldn't stand to stay.

So, despite what I call winter (and this country laughably calls summer – I swear it is freezing all the time here) clawing its way around the room I slipped out from under my four various quilts and padded across the dark room, only tripping over the "strategically placed items" once or twice on the way. I swear I had not left my hiking boots right next to the doorframe.

I sidled out of my door, managing to kick my door stop on the way, and out onto the dark landing. The absence of the moon meant minimal visibility and I still hadn't figured out where the light switches were in the place or if they even existed. I groped for the banister I knew had to be there somewhere and followed it down tentatively to the entrance hall. I hated stairs in the day time, let alone in the dark.

When I reached the bottom, a soft, flickering light was washing out from the "reading room" as I had dubbed it. The fire was still burning so I peeked my head around the wall and just stood there; half in and half out of the room and probably looking a right fool because there he was. In his favourite chair by the fire. Kicked back, feet up with yet another leather bound book in his hand. Blond highlights glinting in the firelight, even though his hair had darkened considerably over the years. Wire rims perched on his still rather boyish face, regarding the book with obvious intellectual interest. The only thing missing was – uh no – there it was, the glass of Scotch on the table, half empty (or was that half full?). I must have stood there for longer than I realised because he turned his head and peered at me from over the top of those glasses as one who was regarding a stunned mullet would do. Glowing in the firelight, he couldn't get any more adorable.

'Can't sleep?' That accent, faint though it was, never failed to charm. I shook my head and finally my mind and common sense connected with the rest of my body and I shivered. I had forgotten to put on my dressing gown, hadn't I?

'Cold?'

I padded over to the chair at his beckoning and set about the best way to crawl into his lap. It was a lot harder than it sounded. I had to avoid his bad leg amongst other inadequately healed injuries. Sometimes I hated him for throwing himself into danger and then I hated myself for hating him after all he had done for me and…

I had finally found a route which caused the least discomfort for the both of us and twisted my body around so my head tucked underneath his collar bone and my more bony parts were more or less on the winged chair itself – altogether not an easy accomplishment but a comfortable one in the long run.

He chuckled slightly as I spent many minutes trying to find a suitable place to tuck my hands so I couldn't feel his heartbeat (I could not stand the feel of my own pulse let alone someone else's) and finally tucked them underneath my head, creating a barrier between my left temple and his suspenders. I waited for any complaints or soft suggestions on his part but none were forthcoming as he snaked his arm around my waist and I was glad of the feeling of being anchored.

We stayed in silence until he had finished his page and his hand around my waist started to shift in readiness to turn it but I was too quick. I turned it for him.

'Ah, so you are not dozing then, my girl? Only foxing.' When I looked up into his gaze, it was all there; hope, compassion, understanding, admiration and love just to name a few. I couldn't help it – for some reason I always found him to be the easiest person to talk too. 'Damn, I'm lucky.'

Again, he just smiled and laughed, drawing me in closer and tighter.

I didn't recall falling asleep; I didn't remember being carried back to my room either but both must have happened as I woke up, sunlight streaming in, underneath my four quilts.

I remembered the warmth of the fire, and the warmth emanating from my adored from the night before. He was a real gentleman and they were as rare and as precious as any diamond to be found in a mountain of rocks – even more so. If you had found one you never let him go, that was my opinion.

My mind continued down this seemingly nauseatingly sentimental path for a while longer while my subconscious debated whether or not I should go back to sleep or see about some breakfast – or whether or not he was awake. So again, I found myself slipping out from under my four quilts and padding across the room, only once tripping over my hiking boots which I should have remembered I left next to the doorframe.

This time though, I opened my door and moved my doorstop before proceeding downstairs. The first room I stuck my nose into was the "reading room". The fire had died, the Scotch glass was missing and the book was resting neatly on the table. My next two thoughts were "breakfast" and "kitchen" and somewhere along the way to the latter my half awake mind deduced that it needed "tea" as well.

I stepped into the kitchen, winced at the coldness of the tiles and nearly walked straight past the bright white sheet of note paper with a colour illustration of a Mallard duck at the top sitting right in the middle of the table so I couldn't possibly miss it. It read:

"My dear,

Work called this morning and I didn't want to wake you. I'll try and get away as quickly as possible but when one is dealing with murder one cannot be certain. If it gets late, please do not stay up on my account.

Your Ducky"

Well, that's what you got for falling for a federal agencies' Medical Examiner.


	2. Ten 'Til Nine Part II

_**The Mallard Chronicles**_

_**Ten **__**'Til Nine Part II**_

The note on the kitchen table clinched it; I went back to bed. Murder very rarely ran to schedule so I knew I had at least the entire day to myself and quite possibly most of the night as well. I padded back up to my room and pulled the curtains tightly shut against the persistent sun.

After waking up for the second time and this one being closer to four in the afternoon, I made myself a cup of tea, picked up a book then put it back down again, changed rooms and sauntered around in the lounge room before deciding to pack it in and go to NCIS myself.

I flashed my badge and cleared reception in a flash, strolled into the lift and let the doors close before I realised I didn't have a clue what floor autopsy was on. Luckily, the lifts' first port of call opened out onto what seemed like office space but my view was blocked by the appearance of a tall, expensively dressed (Armani I believe or something similar) American who, quite frankly, strutted in. He had the air of one who charms what he likes when he likes.

'Yeah, uh what floor were you after? I'm Tony; by the way, I didn't catch your name.'

I kept my eyes firmly on the wall panel. 'I'm after autopsy, my name's Megan and I'm taken. Sorry.' I didn't mean it, but all the same, sarcasm seemed a good idea at the time. I had no time for snake charmers, even if they were kinda cute; I had my angel waiting in the valley of death.

'Uh, taken? He's not blond is he?' He didn't sound too disappointed more curious.

'Yep.' That was the end of our conversation.

The six foot walking flirt left me alone in the lift two floors before it came to a stop and deposited me into a cold, metal hallway bisected by a pair of clear, industrial automatic doors. I crept up and peered through the Perspex before they opened and I jumped at the pneumatic hiss. I saw my angel at the far end of the room, hunched over a desk and filling in what looked suspiciously like paperwork. I crept across autopsy, doing my very best not to make any noise on the cold, hard floor. He seemed too engrossed in his report to notice so I tiptoed all the way until I was directly behind his chair. Holding my breath, I leant down and draped my arms over his shoulders, letting them hang down over his chest. He sighed in exasperation, threw his pen down and leaned back into my embrace.

'You're not supposed to be here my girl.' He softly scolded but I could hear the approval and amusement in his voice.

I leaned my chin on his shoulder and tried and failed to sound aloof or at least a little wounded by his apparent dismissal.

'Why ever not? I have clearance so why can't I use it once in a while? Pull a few strings now and again.'

He laughed softly and I hung on tighter.

'Well I heard you caused quite a stir at the FBI building when you waltzed in as if you owned the place and managed to solve their cold case yourself.'

I grinned and moved away so he could back the chair out and stand. While I was helping him with his jacket I remembered the brief conversation I had had in the lift.

'Coming down here I had some toted up Yank trying to get my number in the lift. I told him he had no hope.'

He patted me on my cheek before slipping his arm around my waist.

'That's my girl. I believe a short detour is in order.'

I had a feeling he knew more than he was telling.

As he led me through the floor of offices I had previously spotted from the lift I noticed my escort had adopted his "proud" stance. I wondered to whom I was being shown off to. Then as I was being steered around a double row of desks, I spotted the entire floor staring opened mouthed at us. They were on the stairs, leaning over the balcony and balanced on desks to get a better look over the dividers. Then it hit me, seated at the second last desk and looking a right codfish was the man from the lift. He must have been a loud talker who just couldn't keep anything to himself.

Ducky just smiled and placed his report folder on the desk in front of the stunned agent, never once relinquishing his grip on my waist. 'Good afternoon Tony. Do you think you could pass this on to Gibbs when he returns? I'm taking the rest of the evening off. This way my dear.'

I allowed him to propel me into the lift and I frowned in confusion at the myriad of gob smacked agents who never let their gazes wander until the doors had closed with a soft ding.

'Why were they all staring at us?'

He readjusted and tightened his hold on my waist before he spoke. 'Not us, you.'

'But why?'

He pulled me closer and whispered in my ear.

'Because you are beautiful.'

And for once, I allowed myself to believe it.


	3. Drop It, DiNozzo

_**The Mallard Chronicles**_

_**Drop It DiNozzo!**_

_**Authors' Note: This chapter is from Tony's point of view. I will be chopping and changing with each chapter so Chapter 4 might be from Gibbs' POV and Chapter 5 might be from Ziva's. Depends on how I'm feeling when I sit down to write it.**_

I sat at my desk, eyes unfocused on the report in front of me. My mind had better things to do then paperwork. Things like figuring out who Ducky's girlfriend is. I broke the silence halfway through my thought.

'Right, so, her name is Megan and she didn't sound American so that narrows it down. Hey, Probie, you know this reminds me of a Hugh Grant movie. You know? Guy meets girl on an off chance, she rejects him and then he spends the rest of the movie trying to find out who she is etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.'

'Tony,' McGeek sounded more annoyed at me than usual. 'Why are you obsessing over one woman who turned you down because she's seeing someone else?'

'Because, McBlind, of whom she is seeing. Obviously you didn't notice her hanging off the arm; or rather entire side, or our good Doctor and she did say she was taken by a blond. Besides, I wanna know how he does it.'

McNervous looked more, well, nervous.

'Does what?'

'Get the good ones Probie. What did you think I meant?'

Ziva glared at me over her computer screen. I suppose I should have been scared.

'We do not know if she is "going out" with Doctor Mallard.'

I stabbed my ball point pen in her direction to make a point.

'Come on Ziva. You don't hang onto someone like that if nothing's goin' on behind the scenes. They practically had their hands in each other's pockets and he called her "my dear". I nodded as if it was clear as black and white.

McGee shook his head at me.

'Tony, he calls most women "my dear". It's like a British thing or something.'

'Yeah but most of them aren't lookin' like a wide eyed little lamb going baa baa after the farmer carrying a bottle of warm milk.'

Ziva looked puzzled and her face screwed up in an attempt to understand my analogy. I saved her the effort.

'Never mind Ziva... I still wanna know who she is. Hey, McWiz, can you do a search for all non-American Megan's?'

'Do it yourself Tony, I've better things to do.'

Wow. I was shocked. Little Timmy was actually standing up for himself. Feeling a bit pleased and a little proud of my Junior Field Agent, I brought up our search program and entered in "Megan". Only thirty six million hits. Great!

A few taps and twenty five levels of Tetris later and I had it narrowed down to one million. Exclude all non-brown haired women plus the other characteristics I thought she didn't have and…

'Ding! Ding! DING! Ha! Ha! HA! Who rocks, huh? Who? ME!'

But before I had a chance to pull up the file on Megan Bronide I got that foreboding feeling you only get when Gibbs is hovering right behind your shoulder watching everything you do. I shut my screen down faster than you could say "Flash Gordon".

'Oh, uh, Boss, I was just…'

I shut my mouth at the familiar feeling of my brains being smashed forward in my skull. I swear Gibbs' hand is one of the leading causes in brain damage.

He stalked to his desk demanding I 'Drop it, DiNozzo!'

NO WAY! I hoped my mouth wasn't as open as I though it was. Gibbs knows who she is? Wait, stupid question. Of course Gibbs knows who she is; he's Gibbs.

I silently grumbled and moaned as I turned off the program, but not before I noticed the little capital F, B and I underneath her name followed by a C, I and A next to an N, C, I and S.

Oh god. What was it the Director was saying about inter-agency cooperation?


	4. Three Way Ties

_**The Mallard Chronicles**_

_**Three Way Ties**_

_**Authors' Note: **__**Sorry for the long wait – keeping two stories afloat is harder than I thought and I've just started on my third. I really hope it makes sense as my beta has abandoned me in preference to Africa for the moment. **_

Paperwork – why is there always paperwork? The high from the completion of a case is always shot down by the sudden appearance of a few forests worth of forms in my otherwise empty in-tray. The door to my office opened and I was ready to welcome any reason, any reason at all to just tip it all off the desk and into the rubbish bin.

'Hey Megan, how was lunch?' I grinned up at her. It was hard not to notice how unnaturally bouncy she was after her lunch break. After all, she had been the personification of doom and gloom at the beginning of the day,

'Nose down, Toby.' Her scolding was rather offset by the size of her grin, sheepish though it was. 'It seemed a much better idea than paperwork.'

'Yeah,' I ventured, throwing the bait, 'Apparently they were meant to be doing requisition forms this week.' NCIS are notorious for late or non-existent forms.

'Like us you mean?' She flipped open a particularly large folder and I laughed at her intense concentration as she attempted to read the fine print. In truth, it wasn't all that interesting.

'So what did you have,' I teased, 'Apart from generous helpings of M.E.? Ow! Hey!'

The little minx had slammed the folder she was looking at into my shoulder.

'As a matter of fact, Tob–'

Saved by the phone. I snatched it up, effectively cutting off whatever comment Megan was planning to rib me with. It was her choice to defect over to the Navy cops just because of some sweet talking British doctor who held open the door for her. And she reckons America is decadent and uncivilised.

'Yeah? Right.' I threw the phone back into its cradle and hefted myself out of my chair, flung open my office door and hovered on the threshold. 'Right everyone, get off your collective asses, we've got a case!'

I smiled at the collective cries of triumph and the sudden mini snow storm as masses of half completed paperwork hit the air.

'Freidman, Carson, meet you in the car.'

I bent over my locked desk draw to retrieve my Sig and earned myself a sharp poke and constant tapping in the middle of my shoulder blades.

'Hey Lieutenant Goldblume, what about me? I'm coming too.'

I sighed, straightened then held open the door for our free-lance agent. No point arguing when you have about as much influence over her as a mouse at the G8 summit. Unless the mouse happens to be sitting on a nice bit of blackmail.

In the car Megan shot-gunned forcing Freidman and Carson to the back.

'Okay, what do we know? We'll go anti-clockwise; Freidman, Carson, Megan.' I queried as we pulled out of the FBI car park.

'Local LEOs got a call from a motorist reporting a car that had gone off the road, into a ravine and ended up in a tree.' Freidman responded completely unenthused.

'They ran the plates – came back signed, sealed and stamped as ours.' Carson was rather more upbeat when it came to cases.

'You know, this reminds me of a photo someone sent me last week.'

I groaned and shot Megan a look which hopefully said "oh no, not another one, please stop before you begin" but she completely ignored me and carried on anyway.

'Yeah, it was a car balanced on the very top of a tree and the caption said; "Insurance: a chance to see just how creative you can be with the truth."'

My two very easily amused juniors scoffed.

'Hehe, yeah – like that one I saw on a truck.' Carnon offered. 'It said; "Yes I own this truck, no I will not help you move." Hey Boss, you've got a truck haven't you?'

'Aw geez.' I groaned again and tightened my hands on the steering wheel as gales of laughter bounced around the inside of the car. It wasn't even that funny.

I had literally taken two steps out of the car at the edge of the ravine when the bloody NCIS Major Response truck came barreling around the corner nearly ending up in a tree itself so either Gibbs or Officer David was driving. This time I was really not gonna let Gibbs have it. The crime scene that is. 'What the hell are you doing at my crime scene Gibbs?'

'Your crime scene Fornell? Since when has an NCIS car crash been FBIs jurisdiction?'

It seemed pretty obvious he hadn't had his morning coffee and it wasn't the absence of a cup that gave it away. What the hell was going on here?

'NCI – what?'

'Boss!' Agent McGee came bounding into my line of sight but still slightly out of arms reach of Jethro. 'We just got confirmation from Abby and the local LEOs. The plate on the car is NCIS issue.'

'That's not possible!' I practically spat at them. 'They're FBI plates.' I pointed aimlessly at where I hoped the car was.

I could hear DiNutso trying to be discrete in the foreground and failing miserably. 'Oi Ziva, that's her! The woman in the lift, you know the one that Ducky practically flaunted in front of us. Why is she with Fornell?' Megan, to her credit, barely battered an eyelash.

'Tony, I do not care! What I do care about is what Gibbs' is going to do with us if we do not get this scene processed quickly!'

'Aw come on Ziva! You can't tell me you're not in the least bit interested. Hey Boss!' DiNutso was peering down into the ravine, camera held loosely by its strap. 'We've got bodies down there! Definitely not alive! If they were it would be Pet Semetery all over again!'

'That's great work DiNozzo. Call Ducky and Palmer, get – who the hell is this now?'

A black armoured car had pulled up behind me so I didn't notice it until Jethro practically screamed in my ear about the new arrivals. The agents who stepped out looked as though they had stepped straight off the set of Men In Black and DiNutso said so. The pair flashed their cards at us and we returned the gesture. None of us were even slightly impressed by the arrangement of letters. I was only a couple of shades less infuriated than Gibbs.

'What does the CIA have to do with an NCIS –?'

'FBI.'

'- car crash?'

'Actually,' the tallest of the pair countered, 'this is a CIA matter; our plates are on that car.'

In the midst of all this I had completely forgotten about Megan until her voice drifted loud and clear over from the side of the ravine where Gibbs' trio was sketching and shooting and bagging and tagging.

'That's my car! Some bastard has driven my brand new bloody car into a fricken tree!'

'Well,' the CIA agent mumbled, 'that solves one question.'

'Who invented free-lances in the first place?' His partner asked in complete seriousness.

I kicked at a rock and shoved my hands deeper into my pockets as a rather morbid thought crossed my mind as Megan continued her ranting and raving to no-one in particular.

'Who's gonna tell the Directors?'

Gibbs picked up a rock and threw it into the ravine.

'I swear if I ever hear the words "inter-agency cooperation ever again…'

We decided Gibbs would supply the gasoline, the CIA guys would provide the alibi and I'd bring the matches.


	5. Death Note

_**The Mallard Chronicles**_

_**Death Note**_

_**Authors' Note: **__**Sorry for the long wait – my beta has returned bearing gifts and apologies. This was written during a particularly boring business meeting one hot Wednesday so if it doesn't seem right, I apologise. **_

As I pulled on the handbrake, parking at the edge of the crime scene I couldn't help but feel at least a little pleased with myself. On the way I only turned the wrong way twice. How was I supposed to know when I asked Doctor Mallard if we went left and he said 'Right' that he really meant 'Right – go left'. I don't think I will ever understand how the minds of the British work but let me tell you, doing a U-turn in the M.E. truck while travelling down a single lane, one way dirt road is not easy.

Doctor Mallard had been told far more about the crime scene than I had – his phone was constantly ringing and truthfully, I don't really like bagpipes – so when we pulled up, he gave me a word of warning.

'Now Mister Palmer, this might not be your average crime scene so please, try and stay alert.'

I nodded and refrained from adding that none of our crime scenes could be considered average. I looked out the window and noticed FBI and CIA mingling with our NCIS guys. This couldn't be good.

I stepped down from the drivers' side and started to walk around the front of the truck when I was roughly pushed aside as a woman almost half my height and sporting an FBI windbreaker practically sprinted past.

'Ducky!'

She screamed as she threw herself into the Doctor's arms. I quickly busied myself with fetching the gear from the back of the truck, giving the Doctor some time to untangle himself from the woman. And to think some people still wonder which side of the fence he sits on. Figuratively speaking.

'Let's not keep Agent Gibbs waiting, Mister Palmer.'

Doctor Mallard's voice sounded the all clear so I wheeled the gurney around to that side of the truck.

'Megan my dear, this is my assistant Jimmy Palmer. Mister Palmer, this is Special Agent Megan Bronide of the FBI, CIA and NCIS.'

He motioned to the brunette still hanging off his shoulders.

'You missed Homeland Security.' She jibed. 'Try fitting all that on a business card. I have to carry around four different lots depending on whom I'm with. Bit of a pain really.' She added with a shrug.

I stammered some sort of hello amongst her speech - she really was a lot like the Doctor. Then she suddenly changed her grip, swinging around to wave at someone closer to the ravine.

'Ooh,' she laughed, 'looks like Toby's getting impatient.'

She grinned at the Doctor before trotting off, encouraging us to follow. Thankfully I remembered to close my mouth before Doctor Mallard noticed.

We walked, (well slid mostly) down the ravine to what remained of Agent Bronide's car. She insisted on hovering, almost constantly, wherever Doctor Mallard was and it turned out she had the authority to do so. I was only slightly shocked to discover that, like our M.E., she loves to tell stories. I heard snippets of some spy operation in some place called Peaceful Haven and something to do with a mishap with ice cream trucks. She barely paused for breath even when she was helping us pull the bodies from the wreckage.

From the corner of my eye I saw Tony snapping away, not at the car but at Agent Bronide. She didn't seem to notice but Agent Gibbs did. Poor Tony – that's all I'm going to say.

I was dragged back to the bodies by exclamations of 'Oh my' and 'Well that makes loads of sense.'

Through the torn and bloodied clothes one of the dead guys had autopsy stitches from a full Y-cut, the other was branded with a serial number and a morgue tag and the third, a woman, had limbs entirely of wax and had partly melted in the heat.

'Uh, Doctor Mallard?' I ventured. 'I think this crime scene's a fake.'

Megan sighed and rolled her eyes. 'Great.' She muttered before raising her head and hollering, 'Pack it up guys! We're leaving it to NCIS! It's fake! Or at least I hope it is – just some sick joke.' She added under her breath.

'Why are you leaving it to us, Megan?'

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Sometimes, 'okay maybe always' I wish that Agent Gibbs wouldn't sneak up on us like that. Maybe some people get used to it; Doctor Mallard doesn't even bat an eyelid. Somehow, I don't think I ever will.

Oh right – Agent Gibbs asked a question. Hang on – why is NCIS going to handle it?

'This, Jethro, is why we shall handle it.' Doctor Mallard handed over three military I.D.s and a torn and bloodied piece of paper someone had covered in something red. Other than blood, I mean.

Again I was pushed out the way by an FBI windbreaker wearing Special Agent. 'Oh that's not good.' She cried and groped behind her for Doctor Mallard.

'Here' Gibbs pushed the evidence bag into my hand. 'Take this up to DiNozzo.'

Halfway up the incline, Tony came down to meet me.

'Whatcha got for me, Palmer?' he asked as we continued up the slope.

I handed over the bag and his eyes widened. Ziva and McGee came running at his shout. I finally got to see the note as he handed it to McGee.

_Die Megan Bronide_

_ Die Donald Mallard _

_ Die stone dead_

It was repeated on every scrap of space in what looked like blood.

Terrific.


	6. One In Every Family

_**The Mallard Chronicles**_

_**One in Every Family**_

_**Authors' Note: Sorry for the long wait – Christmas season, writer's block and all that. Also, I have given up on first person, it just got too confusing, limiting and I was quickly running out of characters and ideas. **_

Back in the NCIS bullpen, tensions were running high and patience was is short supply.

'I know who this psycho is Gibbs.'

Megan's glare was fierce enough to rival his which, on the whole is rather unnerving, and anyone who is more protective of Ducky than the afore mentioned Gibbs should be branded a formidable opponent and left well enough alone. McGee had already decided to keep his distance.

Gibbs gave her that infamous vacant stare everyone knows means "get on with it" even if it takes them a while to grasp the fact. Many agents had learnt the hard way to keep the important information flowing.

She leant back against Tony's desk and with the look on her face at the crime scene photos tiled on the plasma screen, was trying to explode it using the power of telekinesis.

'It's my ex-husband. I know it's an awful stereotyped cliché but as I am staking not only mine but Ducky's life on it…'

'Well let us hope it does not come to that, my dear.'

Tony and Ziva were shadowing Ducky pretty much everywhere. Gibbs definitely wasn't taking any chances this time – not after the family with the death obsession and the meat puzzle, Ari in the body bag and that creepy guy with the baseball bat and the colt .45…

'Why, what'd he do? Use your makeup and forget to put the cat out at night?'

Tony can always be counted on to make a less than tactful inquiry disguised as his lame attempt at a joke.

Megan seemed to visibly shrink, wrapping her arms around her and sliding off the table.

'The fact that he was an abusive, psychopathic killer might have had something to do with it, yeah.'

Ducky took over her story for her. 'I had already known Megan for years and she had always come to me with cuts to be stitched, burns to be treated and a myriad of bruises, I thought nothing of it – such was the nature of her job. Until I noticed the cuts never seemed to heal and the bruises multiplied over the months of her marriage.'

'I divorced him eight months after and asked my cousin's ex-husband to arrest him. The papers wouldn't go through any quicker.'

'Why?' McGee was genuinely confused. 'I mean, why didn't you arrest him yourself?'

She shook her head, suppressing a shudder. 'Too many loopholes. If I had, they'd have said it was personal etcetera, etcetera, etcetera and the bastard would have walked.'

'So what's that got to do with Duck?' Gibbs followed Ducky with his eyes as he came to stand off Megan's shoulder. Gibbs didn't seem to be getting it any more than the others were.

'He blamed me for the failure of his marriage. Once my suspicions we aroused I persuaded Megan to walk away before he did her any permanent damage. Well, physical at least. He saw me as a threat; the cat amongst the pigeons as it were.'

'What's the name of this dirt bag?' Gibbs was on the offensive.

Ziva answered, bringing up a rather large digital record on the plasma. 'Norman –'

'Bates?' Tony gaped. 'Are you seriously telling me you married someone called Norman Bates and you didn't think for one moment he could be a little…' He made a few jerking motions with his head until Gibbs slapped him still.

'Arrested,' Ziva continued, 'on multiple charges of assault, all kinds, battery and fraud, four counts of attempted murder, two counts of manslaughter, assault against a federal agent, murder of a federal officer, assisting arrest – the list goes on.'

'Released four days ago!' Gibbs grabbed his gun, badge and jacket before bounding for the elevator. 'Tony! Ziva! You're with me. McGee, Agent Bronide, stay put! You too Duck.'

Megan slouched back to Tony desk and plonked herself down in his chair. She feigned an exaggerated pout until Ducky perched on the corner of the desk to keep her company.

McGee occupied himself with trying to find a way to write the whole scenario into his new book. 'It'll never turn out this easy, I'm sure,' He muttered to himself, 'but first things first – time to find out who this cousin's-ex-husband-who's-a-fed-and-arrested-Norman-Bates is and where the dead bodies came from.'

And the tap-tapping of computer keys filled the solemn silence in the room as he casually hacked in to FBI's case files on their Arlington server.


End file.
